youth
by rainbowswirl
Summary: There has to be something out there, right? Something bigger? Something better?


"What d'ya think is out there, mom?"

She turns her head, eyes drinking in the image of the young boy, the child — her _son_, she reminds herself. Not just anyone, but her own flesh and blood — with his brown, spiked hair and innocent smile. It's impossible not to return it, even with only a quiet upturn of her lips, a small nod of her head, peeking at the boy from the corner of her eye. Sora—so blue, like the sky above them during the day and she wonders why it seems so fitting now. It's almost eerie, she thinks, but she doesn't comment on that thought because there's nothing he would understand. He's so young. He doesn't know anything about pain or coincidence or possibility yet. He's a child.

That she reminds herself of, too.

"There's nothing, Sora," she murmurs. "Just us. Don't you think it's beautiful?"

And she isn't sure why she asks but maybe she's just partly afraid he might question it. He might be curious. He might leave her behind and he might run away and she might never see him again, her little sky with his wide eyes and toothy grin and tears prick the corners of her eyes at the thought of it. She can't afford to lose the only thing she has.

"It's beautiful," she affirms herself, because he offers no answer in his confused silence, "we don't need anywhere else."

Maybe she's just trying to convince herself.

"You have an early morning ahead of you," she adds, voice somehow quieter now and she wonders if he can even pick out the words. "Get to sleep, if you want to be rested enough. I'll see you when you wake." Her lips stretch slightly across her face, trying to offer something genuine and feeling and motherly but it's forced and fake and disappointment courses through her veins. Even to her son, she can be nothing but a liar.

"Good night."

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.

.

.

"What do you think is out there?" he wonders aloud, gazing into the distance with his arms leaning behind him, pressing into the sand that digs into his skin. It's an uncomfortable, burning feeling but he is used to it, and in an odd way, he likes it. Sora just figures that the island is the only place he has ever known and will ever know so he might as well deal with the less pleasant aspects of it. Even hot sand could have its advantages, right?

But Riku quirks an eyebrow and sends him a look that is clearly questioning Sora's intelligence, but he doesn't make any wordy remark. He simply shrugs, follows the direction that his companion's eyes are pointing in and Sora swears he sees the hint of a smile on the boy's lips. It disappears before he can truly tell.

"Everything," he answers, and he sounds so sure of himself that Sora squints his eyes and tries to see something far, far away from where they are. His efforts go to waste but he has no reason not to believe his closest friend and his lips curl into something fueled by happiness and excitement. He suddenly pushes himself to his feet, falling into the water with a loud splash.

The salt stings his eyes when he opens them, but the blurred image almost seems like a new world.

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"I'm not from here," Kairi says, examining a seashell that hangs from her fingertips. He looks at her in some sort of awe and doesn't try to mask it, so caught up with the thought of someone from a completely different place that he can't be bothered. Her expression is slightly uncomfortable as Sora only continues to stare with his lips somewhat parted and she coughs into the crook of her elbow. He blinks, turning his eyes in embarrassment, the red in his cheeks obvious. They don't say anything, and he hands her another seashell.

"There are a lot of them here," he mumbles, and she nods. She smiles. She pats his arm and wanders ahead, red hair whipping behind her, blazing like a fire that he's never seen and doesn't know the name of. But it's pretty, and he likes watching her, so he doesn't move and eventually she calls to him with an insult aimed at his laziness. Sora laughs just to please her and she giggles to herself softly and he finds it easy, this sort of friendship, if that's even what it is.

Later, he asks, "What's it like where you're from?"

Kairi purses her lips and jerks her head to the sea. "It's not as blue," she tells him, and he doesn't understand. "It's not as pretty," she continues, this time looking at him, a flower tucked behind her ear that contrasts with her red hair. He doesn't recognize it. "But it's home to me."

"Maybe I'll see it some day," he says, his throat dry, and for some reason, he feels no doubt when he speaks the words.

"Maybe," she agrees, but her smile falls. "Maybe."

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The raft is his way of promising that he'll fully understand Kairi one day. That they'll find her home again and she'll show him all that she can and they'll be happy — and Riku will be there, too, because Riku is Riku and he has always wanted this the most. He has always wanted the escape that Kairi's arrival had promised to him. Sora feels sorry that he has been trapped on the island for as long as he has and needs to make sure that they all leave, they all get out, just to explore and be happy and be okay with the world they find themselves in again.

He doesn't mention the idea to his mother.

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This isn't home, he thinks as he wakes. Kairi isn't here. Riku isn't here. His mother isn't here, either. He's undeniably alone and Sora can't help the lump that rises in his throat. He can't see anything that he knows and his muscles ache and the entire situation is enough to reduce him to less of a man than he could be. He wants to be sick, to cry, to act like a lost little child, but there is no opportunity. This isn't home, and he has no one to rely on except himself.

Sora pushes himself to his feet.


End file.
